


I Wan'na Be Like You (Winged Human Song)

by theswissfangirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Fluff, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Peterick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswissfangirl/pseuds/theswissfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe. All human beings are winged. Some of them have feather wings. Others have butterfly wings. Either way, they all have this two members attached to their back that helps them fly. And most of the time, if their wings aren't as white as snow, they reflect the individual's personality.<br/>Patrick Stump has the most colored wings in his family. His parents both have green wings, symbol of their happy life. But Patrick's wings were shining with bright happy colors.<br/>One day, he meets Pete Wentz. And the bond between them is beyond powerful.<br/>The only problem? Pete's wings have an odd color.<br/>They're black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Having wings was just as cool as you’d expect it to be. And depending on the type of wings you had: just as painfully annoying. For example, any type of fine wings were useless in humidity, and taking a shower or bath then waiting for them to dry was a pain in the ass.

Patrick had always been very lucky with his wings. They weren’t made of feathers, and they weren’t any type of insects’ wings. Their texture was very soft, but incredibly strong, and, surprisingly, waterproof. And he was never going to complain about that aspect of his life.

But the good things stopped here. When you see someone’s wings from behind, and they’re gorgeous, you expect the person attached to them to be beautiful and talented as well, as the wings reflect the person’s mind. Patrick… didn’t have that chance. He was chubby, his reddish-blonde hair never listened to him, and he couldn’t even compensate with a stunning personality, as he was very shy. 

It was a Friday morning. He had just woken up from a very tormented sleep, covered in sweat. He breathed heavily, glancing at the clock. 7am, time to get up and go to school for the last time before summer vacation. He immediately forgot his chaotic dream, and got up, suddenly feeling excited. Well, as excited as a not-so-popular individual can be. Never mind all that, he promised himself to stay positive.

He quickly prepared himself, brushing teeth, combing hair and stretching wings out. He then ran downstairs, where he could smell the bacon his mother had prepared. He entered the kitchen, helped setting the table while waiting for his father to come downstairs, and sat at his place while his mother filled his plate with still sizzling bacon.

The three of them ate in silence, his father absorbed in his newspaper, and his mother glancing at him ever other second.

« Mom, it’s just the last day of school! There’s nothing to worry about! » he said, getting tired of the worried look on his mother’s face.

 « I know, Patrick. It’s just—" she sighed  « I just... want you to be able to enjoy your last day of school and not have any trouble »

Yeah, so there was this other thing about Patrick. As people in his classes spent time around him, they expected stunning abilities from him. When he shrugged their questions off when they asked what he could do, they started bullying him. Trying to break his wings (which, surprisingly, never happened, thank God), punch him, or humiliate him.

« Yeah, I know, mom. I’ll try to stay out of trouble, lay low, and just hang out with Joe, I got it. »

She sighed again, then let him go to school after a particularly tight hug.

Patrick rolled his eyes, took his backpack, and flew out of the house.

Possibly one of the best moments in his boring, monotone life, was flying over the woods that separated his house from the city. His parents had bought this house hoping that it was better if they weren't close to possible threats for Patrick. Many people envied his bright, beautiful, waterproof wings. They felt that such a plain, shy boy didn't really deserve them, and were ready to do horrible things to break him down.

He launched himself high in the sky, then let himself fall down before opening his wings just inches from the tree tops. The adrenaline rush made him feel more alive than anything, blood pumping through his veins at full speed.

But, since the woods were quite small, all too soon he saw the first buildings of Chicago appear. He dodged the rooftops and flew on to school as fast as he could without tiring out his wings .

High school. Any teen’s worst nightmare. Patrick’s included. As a junior, he couldn’t wait for senior year, even if he knew he’ll have lots of work to do. He shrugged the negative thoughts off, and focused on finding Joe.

Oh, yeah, other thing that came with the awesome capability of flying, was a better than 20/20 vision. He could see and recognize someone's face from miles away. Useful when trying to find friends or avoid bullies, but not so useful when those same bullies could also find him just as easily.

Back to finding Joe. Patrick guessed he was already near the entrance (that fucker didn’t even have to fly to school, he lived  _feet_ away from it), so he landed near it. He soon saw Joe, sitting near a tree, reading. He probably tried to make himself look smart, even if Patrick knew he was reading a comic book.

« Yo, Stump! » Joe said.

Patrick shushed him, looking around, hoping no one heard him. When he finally got near him, he whispered-shouted:

«  Damn you, Troh, keep it down! Trying to have a normal last day here, man! »

Joe lifted his palms in surrender, then closed his comic book and got up, following Patrick to their classes.

 

Surprisingly, the whole day passed by without any incidents like someone « accidentally » spilling orange juice over him, or something embarrassing happening to him. And he was damn happy that his junior year was finally over. Finally some time to do nothing.

This time, when he flew into the sky, in the evening, he got so high, that he saw the whole lake Michigan in front of him. He fell back down with a shout of victory, and continued his flight back home.

He was extremely happy, now that it was all over (at least for a few months). He had made plans with Joe, and he promised himself he'd learn the guitar with him. Man, that could be the beginning of something awesome! He wondered how he would--

His train of thought was interrupted when he realized he'd flown off course. _Whoops._ He'd gotten distracted. After a few seconds, he oriented himself and veered left, toward the south. Thank God he noticed, or he'd have ended up in Iowa before he knew it.

He continued his flight, this time lower, closer to the trees, and slower, admiring the nature’s work.

Just then, he heard a shout from the woods.

Patrick stopped almost immediately. He looked back. Was someone following him? Nope, no one behind him.

He heard the voice again, clearly distressed and calling for help.

Patrick didn't think about how the woods were too dark to see. He just landed anyway. Having enhanced vision helped, even in the pitch black. He heard the cries of help get louder and louder, then simply stop.

« Don't just stand there! Help me out! », he heard a deep voice say, with a bitchy undertone to it.

«  I can’t see you, if you could at least tell me where you are, it could help both of us! » Patrick retorted.

He heard a sigh. « Take four steps in front of you, then turn right. I’m on the ground » 

Patrick did as the voice said. He crouched in the dark, and held a trembling, pale hand in front of him, trying to find the person.

His hand suddenly was on a silky, smooth surface.

« That’s my wing, you idiot, don’t touch it. I think my leg’s broken. » The voice said. 

Patrick wasn’t happy being called a idiot by a complete stranger, but he certainly couldn’t let him with a broken limb by himself. 

In the dark, he fumbled, until he felt the rough felling of jeans. He fumbled some more, until he finally felt what might have been the cause of the stranger’s fall. He untied the rope, feeling a little weight attached to it, and let out a triumphant shout.

But before he understood what was going on, the man launched himself into the sky, without saying anything.

« Wait! » Patrick shouted. He also launched himself into the air, finally getting into an open space, before looking around: no sign of the man he rescued.

« Hello? » he said.

« Down here. » the voice said quietly.

Patrick looked down and saw the man sitting up in one of the tallest treetops. He flew to him, and hovered in the air at a reasonable distance.

« Thank you. » The man said.

« Hey, no problem! Bros should help each other, right? » Patrick said. He heard the man chuckle darkly.

« Yeah, no. Not me. »

« Why so?  Anyway, it's too dark. Let me get my phone for some light. »

Patrick quickly took his phone out of his pocket and lit its screen, not expecting the sight in front of him.

The man wasn’t old. Probably in his twenties. His arms were covered in black tattoos, and his black hair was straight on his forehead. That wasn’t what surprised Patrick.

In the dark, when he couldn’t see the man’s wings before touching them, he assumed they were some kind of dark blue, or purple.

In the dim light of his phone, his sight was a million times better, and he saw the man’s wings, and the frightened look on his face, as he was saying « No, don’t look!! »

But Patrick saw them.

The— the man’s wings…

They were black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there :)  
> thanks for reading (i mean omg 150 hits in four days whaaaat?)  
> also i guess TW for blood mention and death mention
> 
> Please comment, it helps me out a lot :)

So. 

I guess you got the whole "wings reflect personality" thing. Good. Cuz' there's some more creepy information coming.

Since middle school, Wing Biology and History had been a mandatory science course.  He knew they'd appeared through a genetic mutation in ancient times, and they varied from one individual to another based on their personality. For example, the thinner the wing, the more sensitive the person. The fluffier, the more cutesy and bubbly (this was not Patrick at all, he was far too stubborn), and the stronger, or thicker, the more resilient.

But the color reflected the deepest aspects of a person's mind.

Black wings meant death. Everyone's wings turned black after they died. But black wings on a living person? He'd never seen that. And the school's curriculum didn't cover that either.

Patrick and the stranger looked at each other with wide eyes. Only the stranger's were fearful, whereas Patrick's were more surprised than anything else.

In the awkward silence that had formed, Patrick realized that he had flown a few feet back, away from the stranger. He approached again to try and get a better look. The man was examining his broken foot, his fringe covering his eyes.

"Are--" Patrick started, but was cut off by the man's deep voice.

"Don't ask me if I'm okay." He had raised his head, staring into Patrick eyes like he was staring into his soul. "I have been asked that question too many times..." The man looked back down.

Patrick _was_ going to ask if he was okay, but tried another strategy, as the stranger guessed right :

"I was gonna ask if you were hurt."

The man looked back up, surprised. His expression quickly turned back to defensive:

"As if you care. You only care about the fact that my wings are fucking black and that you want to know why."

Patrick was wordless. Well, yeah, he was curious about that too, but now, the man was starting to be rude, when he only wanted to help.

"You know what? I actually know a few things about weird-ass wings," he retorted, then turned and made sure the guy could see his rare, colorful appendages, "and if you don't want my help, then I'll just leave you here with an injured foot in these woods that you obviously don't know very well." He paused, looking in the stranger's brown eyes, lit by the glare from his phone. "Now, are you gonna let me help you, or are you gonna be rude?" he finally asked, trying to make sure the guy knew Patrick didn't mean any harm.

The man stared at him for a few more seconds, seeming unsure about Patrick’s intentions, as if he wasn’t sure if he was genuine.

« Fine. Thanks for helping me. » he said with an almost defeated tone, like he gave up on resisting.

Patrick smiled. He flew closer, his wings getting a bit tired from holding him up all this time.  He landed on a branch close to the man, and hung his backpack on another. He carefully grabbed the man’s leg, and lifted the jean. The man winced a bit, but didn’t say anything.

Luckily, after all the beating in the past years, Patrick knew what to do with minor injuries like sprained joints, cuts, and even cracked ribs. Also, he always carried a small bag of medical supplies in his bag for _really_ minor injuries, so he took it out. He examined the man’s ankle.  It was bad, but he couldn't tell if it was a break or a sprain.  It was bent a bit awkwardly, but that wasn't what worried Patrick. It was the veins. Instead of the usual bluish hue, they were black.

« What _happened_ to you? » Patrick asked.

« Dunno. Was flying aimlessly, got hit, fell, was found by you. All I know is that there was suddenly something around my legs that hurt like a bitch, and I fell. » the man explained.

Patrick remembered the rope he untied from the man’s legs. He suddenly wished he didn’t throw it after he helped the man, but he couldn’t find it. Not now anyways, in the dark.

« There seems to be some kind of venom in the thing that hit you. » Patrick said. " I can’t promise this isn’t gonna hurt, and I can’t promise everything’s gonna be okay after that. But if I don’t take the venom out, you might lose your foot. »

The man looked at him, almost scared. « What are you going to… » he stopped talking to let a cry out when Patrick inserted a syringe in the center of the web of black veins that covered his ankle. Patrick started extracting the black matter, a satisfied smile on his face when the liquid retracted from the man’s foot and went into the syringe. He ignored the man’s whimpers as he extracted the venom, until a bit of blood came too. He took the needle of the syringe out, and covered the little puncture hole with the tissue covered in alcohol that he had prepared when the man talked. He packed away the syringe in his medical supplies bag, letting the man hold a firm pressure on the wound.

« All good to go. » Patrick announced.

The man breathed out, visibly relieved.

«  _Thank you_. »

A few seconds passed, while Patrick put away all his stuff.

« You helped me, and I don’t even know your name. » the man added.

Patrick looked back at him.

« Patrick. Patrick Martin Stumph. Nice to meet ya. » he said, a big smile on his lips.

The man seemed disconcerted by the friendliness, but said:

«  Pete. Pete Lewis Kingston Wentz the third. »

Patrick let out a tiny snort hearing the annoyed tone of the man when he said it. The man almost smiled, but he stopped himself. He got into the air, and Patrick did the same.

« Are you okay on flying alone? » Patrick asked.

Pete looked at him, not sure if he was mocking him or not. Apparently not.

« I’m fine. Thanks again for the help Patrick Stumph. »

« Thanks for cooperating, Pete Wentz. »

 

When Patrick got home, his mother jumped on him, saying she got worried. He invented a lie, saying he was with Joe and forgot about the time. She didn’t suspect a thing.

He got upstairs, into his room, and carefully closed the door, locking it. He surely didn’t want to be interrupted by his mother.

He fumbled in his bag, taking out the syringe, full of the black liquid. There’s no way he could figure out what the hell was that substance on his own. He sent a text to Joe, telling him to meet him at the border of the woods tomorrow.Joe was more enthusiastic about science than anyone Patrick knew. He needs help figuring out what had happened to Pete, and couldn’t do it on his own.

When he went to sleep that night, after dinner, he couldn’t help but think about Pete. About how his eyes seemed to glow in the light of the phone. How his wings seemed to have the same texture at Patrick’s :fine but strong. And how surprised he was about someone giving him some attention.

Right before falling asleep, Patrick’s last thought was

« I hope I _can_ help him. »

 

The next day, Joe looked like he didn’t sleep all night.

«  Dude, you can't just tell me I'm gonna have to analyze something for you without even telling me what it is! Do you know how stressful that is?  » was the first thing Joe said when they met.

Patrick smiled and rolled his eyes. Joe was a freak whenever it came to discovering new stuff. They walked to Joe’s house. That little science enthusiast had a small laboratory in his room, that his parents gave to him when he was 13. Patrick used to tell him how useless it was, but now, he should be thanking him.

« All right, gimme the stuff. » said Joe, sitting in his laboratory chair.

Patrick took out the syringe out of his back pocket.

« Woah, dude! Do you really want to have a syringe in your ass? » Joe asked, snatching it from Patrick’s hand.

A few minutes passed in the most complete and utter silence, while Joe looked at the substance in the syringe.

« So? » Patrick questionned, growing impatient.

« Never seen something like this before. Gonna have to examine the composition. Might take a few hours with the machine over there. » Joe answered, before getting up, and squeezing a bit of the substance onto a small tube.

« Should warn ya, » Patrick added, before being interrupted by Joe.

« Let me guess. Blood in it? »

« … there’s blood in it-Wait. How did you know? »

«  It’s on the surface. This substance doesn’t mix with the blood. » Joe said. He approached, and showed the syringe to Patrick. « It expands. There might have been much less when you took it, am I right? »

Patrick stared at the now full syringe. How the fuck?

« I’m going to have to isolate it, so it doesn’t expand any more. I don’t know how toxic it is, and I really do not want to. » He went to his desk, and did something Patrick didn’t see, as he was staring at the analyzing machine.

« Now. » Joe said, rolling his chair away from the desk, and looking at Patrick, a serious expression on his face. « You're gonna tell me what happened, and how you got this substance, and why the hell there's blood in it , or else I’m not telling you the results. » 

«  Whoa, chill, Troh, I was going to » Patrick said, lifting his hands in surrender, before starting talking.

 

When he finished, Joe’s eyes were open wide, his jaw dropped.

« B—Black?! Black fucking wings? Are you fucking with me right now? You know that’s not possible, this can’t—« 

« I thought the exact same thing » Patrick interrupted him, before Joe started talking in scientific terms he didn’t understand.

He sighed, passing a hand through his thin hair. « I’m gonna try to find the guy again, and talk to him. But as long as I don’t know what poisoned him, I can’t just go and shout his name on the streets! » Patrick said.

«  I know, I know. » Joe said.

A loud ding interrupted their thoughts, as the machine finished analyzing the sample. Joe got up and went to it, and Patrick followed. He looked at the screen of the machine, but he didn’t get anything, so he looked at Joe’s face instead, trying to interpret his reactions.

« Ummm, Patrick? » Joe asked, uncertain.

« Yeah? » he said, attentive again.

« Is someone trying to _kill_ your new friend? » Joe asked, talking allows, like he was choosing his words.

« What? No, I don’t think so. Why? »

« This substance, » Joe started « is extremely poisonous, and could kill a human in less than a day, probably. It expands slowly but surely throughout the whole body, and there is no stopping it, once it reaches the heart. » Joe paused. « Are you sure you took it all out? »

Patrick thought about it. 

« Yeah, his veins weren’t black anymore after I took it out, so I guess I did okay! »

« Yeah well, even the tiniest particle of this poison could kill a human. » Joe explained.

« What? » Patrick asked, feeling like he understood, but didn’t want to admit it.

« Your friend, » Joe paused, « is going to die."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm sorry for being absent for so long, but now I'm back with one chapter here and one for my other fic.   
> The only reason I'm back is because my beta is amazing, and she motivates me so much and I feel so much better having her help me.  
> And you really should read like, /ALL/ her fics because they are so amazing and she's very talented.  
> Go check @SelketsChild out and prepare to be amazed.

Pete was having trouble not thinking about Patrick. 

When he flew home, all he could think about was how the young man didn't hesitate before helping him. Yeah, sure, he had kinda freaked out at seeing his black wings, but Pete couldn't care less: someone actually cared about him. Or seemed to, at least.

Black wings. That was all that mattered to people that met him. "How did you get them?","Are you going to die?". Blah, blah, blah. The same stuff, repeating over and over. 

Until now.

So, Pete flew back home. He lived in a loft, at the top of an abandoned building, in the industrial zone of Chicago. 

Always the same steps: land on the same roof, unlock the same old door that anyone could break through, then go down the same wooden stairs that creaked in the same places.

He arrived at what he could call home. Technically, the building didn't even belong to him. It's just... No soul was nearby, so he might as well enjoy the little peace and seclusion he was allowed to have. Well, at least technically.

He looked around: in the middle of the open space was a red sofa, in front of which was a flat-screened TV. The money he was supposed to use to pay for college had been pretty helpfully misspent on decorating the place. 

He headed to his bedroom, where he was fortunate enough to have room for a king-sized bed. He lay down, and stared at the ceiling in the dark. One of the perks that had come with his black wings was perfect night vision. How? He had no idea.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he re-opened them:  _ I am never gonna be able to sleep again _ , he thought dramatically. Everything that crossed his mind was Patrick-related. The young man's voice, eyes, wings... Oh, his wings! The most beautiful things he'd ever seen!

He kept tossing the covers on each side of the bed, turning in every way possible, trying to fall asleep, but his mind simply wouldn’t shut up.

" Damn you, insomnia… " he muttered to himself.

He got up, deciding that he simply would not sleep that night, and maybe just binge-watch something. He headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he got up, he winced a bit: his foot hurt a little, but he didn’t look at it, it was probably just some residual pain or something that would simply go away.

He drained the glass, then went to the living-room and plopped on the old red sofa that he had retrieved years ago from a dumpster. He couldn’t understand how someone would give up something that comfortable!

Eventually, in the middle of a BBC Sherlock episode, he fell asleep.

* * *

Opening his eyes the next morning was possible the most difficult task he’d ever done. Well, it wasn’t even morning anymore, he realized, looking at the sun shining in the middle of the sky. He stared at it for a few minutes, blinking in confusion, like it was the first time seeing it. Since he got the black wings, the sun seemed almost strange, and he felt way better in the safe darkness of the night.

He looked around, and realized he had fallen asleep without even a blanket over him. He shifted his weight on the sofa, and got up.

Or at least, attempted to.

An incredible pain shot all the way from his ankle to his knee, and he groaned as he stumbled as fast as he could back to the sofa. He lifted the leg of his jeans up a bit, and had to keep himself from gagging: his foot was covered in a web of black veins, like a spider crawling over him.

The first thing that crossed his mind was that, well, now he had an explanation on why the heck was it hurting so fucking much.

The second thing was who the fuck wanted him to lose a fucking foot?

And the third thing was Patrick.

The boy could maybe help him.  _ Or not. _ Or he could.  _ If he cared. _ He cared, right?  _ No. _ Yes! 

In the battle between himself and himself, he had to choose risking something bad happening to him, or having to look for Patrick.

His choice was long made when he was already flying out of the building.

Pete grimaced in pain all the way to the forest where he met the boy, which was his first and only lead to him. The sun seemed to be burning him. Actually, he didn’t remember the last time he was actually outside during the day. Flying at night felt far more enjoyable, where no one could see him and his black wings in the dark. Now, he had to fly as high as possible without dying of heat stroke, just to avoid being seen.

When he finally saw the green contour of the forest, he dove, and landed on the top branch of a pine tree with a wince. He looked around, trying to remember which way he was flying when he fell last night. He soon recognized a high spruce, the one that had distracted him last night. Probably the reason he didn’t see where was he attacked from.

He had almost reached it when he heard someone yelling.

He froze in the air. Was it…?

" Pete!! " Patrick screamed.

* * *

 

Patrick had never been this glad to see the black wings. He had stayed over at Joe’s, until Joe’s complex laboratory equipment found a countermeasure to the black matter it examined. They basically had had nothing to do, but worry about Pete. And now, he finally was able to find him and give the "cure" to him.

" Oh my God, Pete, thank goodness! I’ve looked everywhere for you! You won’t believe what the thing in your foot was! I’ve got to give you this antidote or else you’re gonna die! " Patrick said in one breath, flying as fast as he could next to Pete. He didn’t even notice Pete’s thankful expression, he was too busy looking in his pocket for the syringe he filled with the antidote. He was surprised when he felt two arms around him, hugging him tight.

" Thank you," Pete whispered in his left ear.

Patrick pulled back, a bit surprised by the sudden contact. He looked at Pete, and lost his ability to speak for a few seconds: Pete’s eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, almost golden in the light, and they were sparkling with tears that were threatening to spill.

" Hey, hey, it’s okay! " Patrick said, cupping his hand on Pete’s cheek. Moments later, he thought that he should not have done that, but the other boy relaxed a bit under his touch.

He grabbed Pete’s hand, and led him down, landing together in a clearing. He helped Pete walk when he noticed that he was limping, and made him sit down on a stump.

" Ow " Pete whined, and Patrick immediately got to work: he lifted his pant leg, and had to put all his will into not screaming when he saw Pete’s almost black foot.

" Oh, God, Joe was right. " Patrick mumbled.

" Wait, who’s Joe? " Pete asked. Patrick jumped a bit, not realizing he talked out loud.

" Uhhh, he’s umm… a friend of mine. " Patrick said, regretting immediately when he saw Pete tense.

" Did you… " Pete started " … tell him about me? " 

Patrick shifted uncomfortably. " Umm, no! I… no, I haven’t! "

" Then why did you mention him? And how did you get the…  _ antidote _ ? " Pete asked, sounding extremely suspicious.

Without missing a beat, Patrick answered with a lie he conjured up on the spot. "He has a lab, and he let me use one of his machines to analyse that black stuff, and I told him it was just something I found in the forest, going home." Patrick hoped Pete would believe him.

Pete frowned, but said nothing. Instead, he asked: " You live in the forest? " 

" Yeah. Well, not  _ outside _ in the forest! I have a house. I mean, I don’t sleep on the ground or something… " Patrick responded awkwardly.

Pete laughed a little, even though it sounded more like a snort, like he wasn’t used to laughing.

Patrick’s attention shifted back to Pete’s injured foot, as he searched for the best place to inject the antidote. He decided to lift the fabric higher to inject it in the middle of where it spread. Pete winced when he pressed the needle into the skin.

Moments later, the veins started to become a faint shade of green again, as the black disappeared, letting the skin become as brown as Pete's rest of the body.

Pete sighed in relief, now that he wasn’t in pain anymore, and Patrick relaxed too, happy that Pete wouldn't die. They both sat on the ground, and Pete leaned on Patrick, letting his head rest on Patrick’s shoulder.

* * *

 

Patrick didn't remember falling asleep. He just was... suddenly crushed by the weight of body: a body that had it's arms wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. He and Pete had somehow fallen asleep at the base of the stump. And Pete was the big spoon.

Patrick sighed. "Umm, Pete?" he said, then nudged his arm a bit, hoping that he would open his eyes. "Peeete. Wake up."

Instead, Pete just groaned and hung on tighter. Patrick rolled his eyes, and looked around. He didn’t really want to disturb Pete in his sleep, since the poor guy had already been through enough, but looking up made him realize that it was getting dark.

Shit. He told his mother that he was staying at Joe’s until dinnertime. And he didn’t call her. Trying not to move too much, he reached into his front pocket, grabbing his phone. It was  7:30 . Already much too late. And that wasn’t the worst part: seven missed calls in the past 3 hours. He was so fucked.

"Goddamnit, Pete, wake up!" he said, this time much louder than the other times.

Pete finally decided to move, and Patrick could get up, now that Pete seemed to be awake.

"Hmm, what?" he mumbled. "Where are we?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. He looked defenseless, like a child.

Patrick was on his feet, stretching his wings out and dusting the dirt off his pants and shirt. "In the middle of the forest. Not far from my home. Can you fly by yourself?"

Pete seemed a bit disoriented. "I hope so. It’s not like my wings were injured, too." He sat on the stump, and tried putting some weight on the foot that had been infected. Patrick observed him, hoping he was alright.

"Nope, no pain. I guess that antidote worked." Pete said.

Patrick smiled at him.

"Thanks, Patrick." he added.

Patrick nodded. It seems like they didn’t have anything else left to say. He turned his back to Pete, looking at the sky, getting ready to launch himself into the air, before Pete grabbed his forearm. Patrick glanced back.

"Can I…" Pete started, seemingly unsure "…see you again? Someday? Like… soon?"

Patrick was surprised. Why would Pete want to spend time with  _ him _ ? He wasn’t interesting, beautiful or smart, and he had no talents. Well, he could drum, but that hardly sounded like a talent. Nevertheless, he wanted to be near Pete, and talk to him, and befriend him.  _ Why the heck not _ , he thought.

"Yeah, of course. I’m on vacation, we can meet anytime."

Pete’s face lit up, and he  _ actually smiled _ . Patrick was astonished: he had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen!

"Good, I’ll text you." he said.

They exchanged numbers, and a few minutes later, Patrick was heading home, oblivious to the fact that he was in so much trouble for being late. His mom was surely pissed off, but he didn’t care.

He was way too happy about what just happened.

He had a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, and please comment because it helps me out a lot (I always feel like I need to be reassured that you guys like what I write)  
> lots of love :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has mentions of self-harm and suicide attempts, so if you're triggered by that, please stay safe and don't read the part written in italics.  
> Other than that, enjoy!

Patrick simply walked home. He didn’t even bother to fly, being as astonished as he currently was. It was strange that Pete wasn’t running for the hills at the sight of him, but in a good way. He never asked a thing about his bright, colorful wings. He actually genuinely seemed to care about Patrick. Did wanting to see him again count as caring? Patrick had no idea.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t think about the mysterious man with the black wings anymore, because he’d arrived at home before he even knew it, and now he had to mentally prepare himself to talk to his mother, rather than think of Pete. Even if he really wanted to think about Pete.

“ _ Patrick Martin Stumph _ !” he heard his mother scream from the kitchen as soon as he opened the front door.

God, he was  _ so  _ screwed.

“Where were you, young man?” Patricia asked, more worry than anger in her voice. She hugged him tightly, putting her hands on his cheeks, squishing the fat there.

“ ‘was with Joe” Patrick mumbled back, trying to escape his mother’s embrace.

“I was worried, Patrick!” she said. “You didn’t answer my calls and I thought-- I thought--” her voice cracking on the last words. Patrick felt bad for making her teary-eyed.

“Mom! Mom, everything’s okay, I’m here!” he said, hugging her back. “My phone died, and I didn’t realize it was this late.” The words seemed to reassure her. Patrick sure was glad she didn’t suspect a thing. He _ really _ didn’t want to explain to her that he met a stranger with black wings that was somehow poisoned and might have someone after him, and that Patrick had helped him. 

_ Yeah, ‘cause that won’t make her more worried, or anything _ , he thought sarcastically.

His father came from his office upstairs, and they all ate in silence. His mother looked at him every once in a while, and whenever he saw her glance at him, he gave her a small smile. It seemed to ease the tension, and as soon as he was done eating, he went upstairs.

He crashed on the bed, sighing. He looked at the ceiling, unable to shut his mind down.  _ Wonder what Pete’s doing right now. Well, let’s find out. _

He took his phone out of his back pocket. Would he look too desperate if he sent him a message? Or would Pete be glad that he made the first step? 

No, he barely talked to him at all. Better try not to seem creepy.

But there was _ something _ about that man! Patrick could simply not figure out what it was! Was it his godlike hotness? Or the lips that formed the most charming smile? Or the beautiful tattoos that spiraled on his tan skin?

Or was it the sadness in his eyes? The way that he only smiled for half a second, before something made him stop…

That thought made Patrick freeze for a second. Sadness in his eyes… The way he seemed…  _ afraid _ to laugh, to feel good… Pete, clearly,  _ wasn’t _ okay. What could he do to help?

Before he could chicken out a second time, he reopened his flip phone and texted Pete:  _ Hey, did you get home safely? _

This was so fucking lame. Nevertheless, he pressed send, hoping he didn’t seem overly attached.

One minute later, his phone buzzed, and he didn’t remember the last time he opened it so fast he almost broke the screen. He read the message:  _ Yea everything ok _ . _ do u want to go out tomorrow? _

He almost choked. Was that an  _ actual _ invitation to go out? Was it weird that he wanted to say yes, even if Pete was almost still a total stranger?  _ Well, he’s never gonna upgrade from the stranger status if we don’t hang out!  _ His conscience had a point.

Patrick didn’t think twice before quickly typing:  _ Of course. Borders, 2 PM? _

The answer came mere seconds later:  _ too early. 8 PM.  _

Patrick couldn’t see how 2 PM was too early, but agreed. Planning to see Pete again seemed to have calmed him, stopping his racing my mind enough for him to fall asleep, legs tangled in the sheets, phone still in his hand.

***

Pete was both excited and worried at the same time. The moment his phone had shown the “1 new message” notification, he had hastily answered to Patrick, not thinking about the possible consequences. Now, he regretted being so impulsive all the time. That was the worried part of him.

The excited part was having trouble  _ not _ thinking about the teenager. I mean, who  _ wouldn’t _ be thinking about him? Patrick had the most beautiful wings he had ever seen, and that wasn’t even the best thing about him. From the little time they had spent together, he already knew this kid was meant to do something big. Something amazing, incredible, more than Pete could ever achieve.

Pete had arrived safely at home. When he landed on the roof, he had braced himself to feel pain in his leg, but no. Apparently, Patrick’s antidote had worked. While he still had doubts about where it came from, and about how much Patrick had told Joe about him, Pete decided that was the last of his worries right now. His first priority was finding out  _ who the fuck wanted him dead _ . He walked into the apartment, and headed (without any pain, thank God) to the living room, and threw himself onto the sofa. 

_ Dead _ . The word rang for a long time in his head, as he was trying to block the memories that came with it. 

_ Pete didn’t look where he was flying. His vision was blurred by the tears he couldn’t hold back. His hand was clutching the bottle of pills. He had chosen Ativan. A not-so-painful way of dying. But maybe he deserved to die in pain. He started to regret the blades he had left in his room, alongside the note he had written to his parents. He didn’t deserve them, they were too good, too kind to have a son like him. _

_ His light blue wings were flapping so quickly, they were but a sky-tinged blur. He almost broke his legs when he landed too violently in the Best Buy parking lot. He looked back, hoping no one had been following him.  _

_ “This is it,” Pete whispered to himself. _

_ He opened the cap and spilled half a dozen of pills in his left hand. He stared at them for what seemed like an eternity. Such tiny objects were going to kill him. It was a blessing, strange as the thought was. _

_ Pete finally took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He then brought the hand to his mouth, and let the pills roll down his tongue. He almost choked, but he kept his head tilted back, making sure he swallowed all of them. He opened his eyes. He felt nothing.  _

**_Maybe I didn’t take enough_ ** _ , he thought. He spilled about ten more pills in his hand, and this time he took them one by one. By the time he had swallowed four more, he got dizzy.  _

**_Good._ **

_ He took two more pills. When Pete opened his eyes again, he forgot for a moment who he was, or what was he doing.  _

**_It’s working._ **

_ He looked down, and before he could change his mind he quickly took the remaining pills. He kept his mouth closed until he swallowed all of them. _

_ A few seconds later, Pete felt his body fall to the ground, but there was no pain. He felt warm liquid run down his temple. He couldn’t immediately get his muscles to work, but when he finally managed to touch the side of his head, he smiled at the sight of the blood on his fingertips. _

**_Overdose and concussion. Maybe blood loss. That’s nice._ **

_ Feeling himself drift into darkness was exactly what he wanted. He was just about to close his eyes, embracing the shadows awaiting for him, when he heard footsteps. Someone running towards him. At first, he was almost certain he was hallucinating (that was one of the side effects, wasn’t it? Pete couldn’t remember anymore), but then he heard a voice. He couldn’t quite catch what it was saying, but he surely could recognize when someone was calling him as desperately as that person was. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone, to let him die, but he felt hands on his body, trying to lift him, probably. _

_ “Don’t you fucking dare die on me, Wentz. This wasn’t part of the plan, you motherfucker.”  _

_ Pete couldn’t understand a thing, nor could he recognize the voice. _

_ “You weren’t supposed to die, you were supposed to give me your fucking powers, but no, you had to get depressed. How goddamned stupid can you be?” _

**_Powers? What powers?_ **

_ He wasn’t feeling anything anymore, but he surely felt when a needle was inserted in the veins in his wrists. If he could actually move, he would have screamed in pain, given the size of the needle he was feeling. Ice cold liquid was spreading in his body, and he was paralyzed. The person’s body warmth suddenly wasn’t there anymore. _

_ “You aren’t going to escape from me this easily. I’m going to get what you have, and you can’t do anything to stop me.” _

_ Pete was already feeling a tingle in his feet. He could feel that he was slowly regaining consciousness, and was almost angry that that person had saved him, but he wanted to open his eyes and actually see this person who had thought it was a good idea to stop him from doing the only thing he was going to be good at. The footsteps were getting further away, and when he finally managed to open his eyes, he only saw the person’s wings, as she was flying away, before passing out. _

_ Actually, no, he only saw the color. _

_ Black. _

Pete was lying on the couch, panting. That was the nightmare he had been dealing with since the  _ incident _ .

The only thing that managed to calm him had been Patrick.

Meeting the young man suddenly didn’t scare him as much as it did before. He only wanted to see him again. As soon as possible.

***

Patrick woke up around 11. It had been so long since the last time he actually got to sleep in, and wake up fully rested. 

Thankfully, both his parents were gone for the day, and he had told them that he was going to sleep at Joe’s. And Joe had agreed to tell anyone the same thing, so no one would suspect where he was really going.

He went to the kitchen, and poured himself milk and cereal in a bowl, that he ate slowly.

He lounged in the house for the rest of the day, alternating watching TV and listening to his favorite David Bowie CD on repeat.

Somewhere in between wishing he could play music somewhere else than in music class and wishing he had enough guts to actually try and do something about it, he realized it was already 6 PM.

Wow, he had already wasted an entire day doing nothing.

Getting dressed was an easy task, as he only wore old band t-shirts and jeans. He also decided his 504 Plan hat was a good way of hiding himself if things got embarrassing.

Flying out of the house got him the same adrenaline rush as ever, only with a bit of worry this time. What if Pete actually didn’t like him, and only wanted to know about his wings?  _ Bullshit. I bet Pete knows what’s it like to be asked questions about weird wings. Yeah, but still... _

Without noticing, he had already arrived to Borders. He landed near the entrance without getting too much attention by the people exiting and entering the bookstore.

He sat down at a table, put on his headphones, and waited.

The plan was to wait until half past 8, then just head to Joe’s if Pete didn’t show up. But exactly at eight, his phone buzzed with the arrival of a message from Pete.

_ i’m on the roof.  _

Patrick got up and out of the store faster than he thought it was possible for a chubby guy like him. Once outside, he flew up, flapping his wings as hard as he could, to get there as quickly as possible.

He felt Pete’s presence more than seeing him. He was sitting in the dark, resting his chin on his knees, his beautiful black wings spread around him, like a cocoon made to protect him from the outside. Before Patrick could approach him more, he lifted a trembling hand in the orange light of the sun setting.

“I should tell you that I’m really bad at human contact, so taking it slowly would be better.”

Patrick stopped. “Then that makes two of us. Human contact isn’t my thing either.”

Pete lifted his head, and actually looked at him. Patrick felt like Pete was staring into his soul, and for some reason, that made him feel more comfortable.

“I’m glad you understand.” Pete said quietly. Patrick slowly approached, then sat a few feet away from him. “Should we…” Patrick started, then hesitated “... introduce ourselves more appropriately?”

Pete looked up again, then slowly nodded. “I guess that’s a good first step.”

_ Oh boy, here we go,  _ Patrick thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment because it helps me out a lot!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!

“Would…  _ you _ like to start?” the boy asked.

A flash of painful memories crossed Pete's mind. What the hell was he doing? God knows how many years he had managed to keep everything that happened to him secret, and now, some kid, that was way too innocent to get involved in all his shit, simply waltzed in and made everything shatter to pieces. He was  _ so fucking screwed! _

“You go first,” he whispered, all of a sudden too tired to try and invent a lie. Maybe if he let Patrick talk first, he could buy some time to think of a good story. Lying was a bad idea when you were trying to build trust, but it was way better than telling this kid the truth and putting him in danger.

Patrick scratched the back of his head. “Well, there’s not much stuff about me. I'm Patrick Martin Stumph, I'm seventeen, and the loser of my school. I listen to way too much Prince and Bowie, and I'd love to make music, but my parents think that it’s best if I don't draw attention to myself. And that's it.” he said awkwardly. It might not have seemed like much, but it was enough to make Pete fall head over heels for him. 

It took a moment before he realized that Patrick was waiting for him to say something.

“That can't be it,” he said, too in awe to say anything else. “I know there's more to you.” Patrick shrugged. “Tell me about your wings.” he added, certain he could learn about the teenager if he knew about the provenance of such gorgeous wings.

Patrick crossed his arms, his new posture defensive. “Not until  _ you _ say something about yours.”

* * *

Patrick regretted not having shut his damn mouth when he saw Pete flinch.

_ Oh fuck, oh fuck, I fucked up, he's never gonna speak to me again! _

“I-I...” Pete started, but his voice cracked. His gaze was distant, staring into something Patrick couldn't see, probably would never see. “This- It’s… the  _ only _ thing I can't tell you.” He blinked and was suddenly back to normal, looking at him with pleading eyes. Patrick nodded, as he couldn't get his voice to work. He was too shocked: Pete didn’t hate him after all!

“You can ask me anything about me, or my life,  _ except _ how I got my wings. It’s…” Pete sighed, “...It’s not- I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.”

The older boy’s wings had risen up a bit, creating a dark barrier that was stopping Patrick from getting any closer. It was probably best not to approach right now, anyway. He wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Pete,” Patrick finally said. He looked away, facing the sunset instead of the dark-haired man. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw those black wings lower ever-so-slightly.

“There’s nothing you should be sorry about, Patrick. I- I probably should have expected you to be curious. Everyone is. I was too, about your wings.”

Patrick looked down, his face burning crimson. His parents had always told him to not be so curious all the time, that it would get him in trouble eventually. 

“What… did you want to know about them?” he whispered. He couldn’t get his voice to work normally. Being with Pete made him overly nervous and flustered. What if he said something that…  _ broke _ the little trust the older boy had in him?

“Well, how about… were you born with them already like that?” Pete asked.

Patrick raised his shoulders, biting his lower lip. Why would such a simple question make him suddenly so uneasy? Granted, he  _ was _ shy, but not to the point of stuttering and blushing all the time. He had kinda managed to keep that under control, at least until Pete showed up.

“Um, well, yes. Isn’t everyo-”

* * *

“No. Not everyone,” Pete interrupted. Patrick’s lips were still open, obscenely beautiful. Singer’s lips. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, seeing Patrick so unnerved, but he couldn’t help himself. He was  _ living proof _ that not all people had the same wing color as they were born with.

“Uh, okay.” Patrick said, playing with the hem of his T-shirt. “Yeah, they were like that since I can remember. Apparently they were white first, but that’s just what my mom says.”

Pete couldn’t help but smirk. He felt like he knew exactly why Patrick’s wings were like that, but didn’t need to tell the younger boy just yet.

“Okay… then at least tell me more about music. What do you like listening to?”

Patrick’s gaze brightened. Pete knew he addressed the perfect subject to get the teenager to open up.

“Well, you know, having when you’re alone a lot, you gotta find entertaining things to do. My best friend, well, only friend, Joe, um, he got me hooked on Bowie and Metallica, but I really liked Bowie more, and then that got me into Prince. My parents were cool with getting me the vinyls, as long as I stayed at home.” Patrick explained.

“But… _ why _ ?” Pete asked. Why would a parent keep his fucking wonder-child at home?

Patrick snickered bitterly. “Bullies,” he answered simply.

Pete’s jaw dropped. Okay,  _ that’s _ something he didn’t expect.

“Bullies? But… who the fuck would ever think of picking on  _ you _ ?” Pete asked, not being able to believe what kind of disorder one must have to ever want to break such a beautiful being.

The younger boy made that ugly, unhappy sound again, his wings dropping low, as he got up. For a moment, Pete thought he was leaving, but then he grabbed his T-shirt by the hem and pulled it up to the base of his wings, turning back to him. Pete’s breath hitched when he saw what Patrick was showing him. A long pink scar, right under his left wing, going from his ribs to where the wing met the skin.

“This one’s from last year. The football team wanted to take them and attach them to the quarterback. I still don’t know why he would want four wings.” He pulled his t-shirt back on and sat down. “They almost got them off me. I passed out, but someone found me and got me to the hospital before it was too late. No idea who it was.”

Pete was shocked. How could Patrick even live with it? How come he even kept going to a normal public school? How come he hadn’t had a nervous breakdown and gone to live in the fucking mountains?

“There are no music stores in the mountains.” Patrick answered. Pete had apparently spoken out loud without realizing it. Again. “And it’s not that bad. I can survive going to public school. I can survive bullies. I can’t survive not having music”

“ _ Survive _ ? Patrick, we’re not talking about getting bored in history class, we’re talking about you risking your  _ wings _ for music?”

Patrick looked back at him, visibly angry. “I don’t care about my wings. Let the bullies have them. That’s something I can live with. But I could never live without music. I would die within a day.”

Pete was left speechless. “Are--Are you serious?”

The glare from Patrick that he earned kind of answered his question already. “Yes, I’m fucking serious. Dude, have you ever truly  _ listened _ to Low? And don’t even get me started on Hunky Dory!”

Damn, that kid had a temper.

And it only made Pete fall even further.

“And... you have no idea on who might’ve saved you? A silhouette? A wing color?” Pete questioned, eager to know more.

Patrick scoffed. “I don’t know if you’ve ever had your wings nearly ripped off, but trying to identify my savior wasn’t the first thing on my to do list. Yeah. I’m grateful and also curious, but it’s not like that person’s gonna show up and go ‘Hey, it’s me, the one who saved you, like, a year ago, how’s it going?’ Patrick paused. “Besides, they probably just wanted my wings for themselves.”

Pete was speechless. Cruel as the world could be, not everyone had ulterior motives. “Maybe they care about you?” he said half-heartedly.

Patrick made that bitter sound yet again, incredulous and clearly skeptical. “Nobody cares about me. They only care about my wings.”

Pete didn’t believe that. “I care about you,” he offered.

There was a moment, Pete didn’t know if it lasted a second or an hour, where he just looked at Patrick’s eyes, feeling like something had unlocked in his soul. Neither of them moved, and both their wings were at their lowest, no sign of defensive behavior from either of them.

But then, Patrick shuddered, and got up, and the spell was broken. “I-- I gotta go. It’s getting late”. 

Pete noticed that the sun was already down, and stood up beside him. “I’ll call you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. My parents are kinda cracking down on me since the last time. Trying to keep me safe, you know?”

“Then I’ll come over. Is that better?”

Patrick hesitated for a second, but then nodded sharply and turned away, flying from the rooftop without another word.

Pete sighed when he was out of hearing reach.

_ God, he was so fucked.  _


End file.
